


your blood on my fingertips

by covertinferno



Series: ice & dirt [3]
Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Canon Related, F/M, Julian & Maven are NOT friends, Mild Blood, Passive-aggression, Tension, cleaning wounds, did i say i missed them already, i miss mareven so much, lingering hands, mare has self esteem issues, mareven, maven has mommy issues, maven’s kinda bitchy, naive hope, they argue like a domestic couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covertinferno/pseuds/covertinferno
Summary: After a battle with Evangeline Samos, a deep gash threatens to expose Mare Barrow’s crimson secret. Accompanied by Maven Calore, she seeks the aid of Julian Jacos— unknowingly placing herself in the midst of built-up aggression.
Relationships: Mare Barrow/Maven Calore
Series: ice & dirt [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169249
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	your blood on my fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of blood, though not descriptive!

There's an abundance of humidity in the dark, candle-lit room. It's damp and suffocating, lingering between the three individuals taking up space in the room belonging to Julian Jacos. Mare Barrow is quick to take a seat on a wooden chair, while Maven Calore stands beside her, either too prideful or too bitter to let his guard down.

"Evangeline got carried away." Mare scoffs, shoving her dark, brittle hair out of her face. A flickering orange glow illuminates her cheek, revealing a blood-splattered crime scene. The wound is deep, pulsing out thick, red wine. Though, not nearly as sweet.

Maven's eyes narrow as he stares at Julian, who maliciously glares back-- though the older man appears to be squeamish and, frankly, disgusted. If Maven had to be honest, he doesn't quite understand the coldness settling over his heart. Just moments ago, his soul had been set aflame with worry and desperation. He was feeling and feeling intensely. It was unrestrained & selfish, and it was all for Mare. Yet, here, in this room, he can’t bring himself to evoke any real emotion whatsoever. He's numb and... angry? Angry at Julian? Undoubtedly, it had to have been his mother's doing, and that knowledge alone infuriates him further.

"I'm not a skin healer, Mare," Julian begins, shuffling his feet, "The best I can do is clean you up."

"I told you," Maven retorts, "He can't do anything."

Julian doesn't take the comment lightly. His fingers twitch with uneasiness, debating between fight and flight. With a tight jaw, he utters the words: “Find Sara Skonos. Do it, my prince."

Mare blinks, taken aback by the relentless hatred brewing between the two males. This fury... it seems to be older than Maven, rooted in something deeper and more twisted. They absolutely despise each other, and though she has an idea as to why, Mare can't help but feel as though Julian had brought this upon himself.

If you’re going to give a child rancor for supper, you should be prepared to face them in the future as a well-fed enemy.

"You forget yourself, Lord Jacos." Maven tosses the title around as if it held no significance. "You should put your legs to good use and find her yourself. You will."

Mare pitifully watches as Julian staggers out of the room, fists shaking with bloodlust. The door is slammed loudly behind Julian, and Maven exhales heavily. He spares a glance in Mare’s direction before rummaging around the room.

"You should have just gone, Maven." Mare scolds him. "Poor man... you come into his room and kick him out. He’s just trying to help us out."

"Correction: he's trying to help you out.” Maven points a finger at her, his other hand grasping a small white towel he had managed to find. “Regardless, princes live by certain standards. He spoke out of turn. Trust me, there are worse punishments in place for that behavior. When you become a princess, you’ll understand."

"You're cruel."

He stops moving for a second, like he didn't expect her to speak against him. His thumbs linger over the cloth, the words ringing in his hollow, tortured head. Why does it bother him so much? There's heat rippling in the air around him, but he forces himself to maintain a stoic composure.

"I'm just." He replies, eyeing a screeching kettle on the stove.

Mare isn't satisfied with his answer, but she bites down on her tongue regardless. No point in getting him all riled up. She stretches out her legs and allows her body to slump into the back of the chair, spine aching upon impact. Her eyes lazily follow Maven, who looms over the sink-- using the hot water from the kettle to wet at least half of the cloth.

He's so rigid with his movements. Like he's a faulty robot trying to act upon its own fucked up commands. But when he walks towards her, face shrouded by shadows, he's so languid and free. It confuses her. It makes her feel... secure. Special, even.

"Shit." She winces at the sudden heat, trying to take it into her hands. But Maven refuses, adamant about cleaning her wound for her.

"A Princess shouldn't curse." He teases, lips twitching upwards.

"Oh, trust me, I've said way worse-ow," She grimaces, a sharp sting taking over her face, "Be careful, Maven."

"Sorry." He fumbles around with the towel a bit before deciding to apply pressure. The blood ruins the fabric. A sea of red, crashing onto white shores.

"Who's Sara Skonos?" Mare asks, feeling the heat from Maven's hand seep through the woven barrier between his palm and her cheek.

"A healer. Though... she's not who I would have chosen for this."

"You don't like her?"

"She's a liar," He spits out, tucking some blood-soaked hair behind Mare's ear, "And despite her abilities, she doesn't deserve my time or respect."

"Like Julian?"

"I don't wish to discuss this further."

"Why the secrets?"

"Why the questions?"

She pulls her face away from him, much to his dismay.

"Mare-"

"I don't need your towel." Her voice is cold and defiant. Mare’s pushing him too far and she knows this, but at the same time, she feels as though she needs to test him. She needs to understand who Maven Calore is, and what he is willing to endure.

"You're still bleeding." He nearly whines.

"What? Does the sight of red blood disgust you?"

Maven’s hand idly hovers by her cheek, like he's waiting. She stares up at him in horror, unsure of what to expect. Silvers can be so cruel and so angry. They're capable of anything. As something wet and hot rolls down her cheek, Mare finds Maven quick to brush it away as it curves underneath her jaw. Against his pale skin, the blood stands out like a speck of dirt does in the snow.

"Your blood on my fingertips." He murmurs, looking down at it. Not hungrily, not with yearning, but with an indescribable sadness. "It doesn't look real... or natural."

"And you think silver does?"

"No, I mean, your blood is so dark. And yet, you have abilities coursing through you in spite of it. You're a miracle, Mare."

The words sound sincere enough, but they make her head reel. Her? A miracle? No, that wasn't possible at all. She was a thief, a liar, and a sorry excuse for a daughter. She wasn't someone worth taking pride in. She sits on a throne of lies and bears a silver-crown of sin. How could she be so lucky if she had to leave everything and everyone behind? How could she be such a blessing if she has to lock her blood, her heart, and her mind away?

"Thank you, Maven." Mare responds dryly.

"It’s a shame. I really wish you would believe me."

He doesn't have his mother's abilities, but he can still read her like an open-book.

Maven tenses at the sound of footsteps coming from down the hall, indicating the arrival of Sara Skonos and Julian. His mother's voice echoes in the back of his mind, reminding him that he is affiliating himself with the contributors to his inevitable downfall. They will drag him and his mother through the mud, all for a dead queen and her narcissistic, stubborn, conceited son. The future king. The golden child. The perfect son. The flame.

Mare grabs his hand, her warm fingers hanging limp against his own.

"One day." She whispers, and her reassurance both confuses and aggravates him. How can she be so kind, so headstrong, so beautiful, so impulsive, so wrong, and so right? Why does she make him feel sick to his stomach with confliction? "One day, I hope I can believe you."

He bows, raising her knuckles to his lips. It's quick & respectful, but a dangerous new territory for the two of them. Her hand is warm, and he wishes he could wash that stupid silver disguise off. What he'd give to gaze upon her tan skin with its red blushes and experience the feeling of being held and caressed by the real Mare Barrow. The girl from the Stilts. The girl from the Arena. The Lightning Girl.

"One day." He repeats, barely a whisper.

Their hands linger as the door opens.


End file.
